<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Coquille St. Jacques by trillian_jdc</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29962794">Coquille St. Jacques</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/pseuds/trillian_jdc'>trillian_jdc</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mystrade Cocktails [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Caring Greg Lestrade, Cooking, Greg Lestrade Is a Good Cook, Insecure Mycroft, M/M, Mycroft Whump, Putting Up With Holmes Insanity, Self whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:09:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,317</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29962794</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/pseuds/trillian_jdc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is concerned that Greg only socializes with him when they're drinking. His insecurity has the potential to ruin their burgeoning relationship.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mystrade Cocktails [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759666</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>126</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Coquille St. Jacques</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A bit of a diversion from the drinks series -- no cocktails here -- but you'll see why.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mycroft was having second thoughts. </p><p>What a ridiculous cliché. He never had only two options for an outcome. But regardless, he was concerned. Now that he’d had some time to think about it, he was wondering if Greg wasn’t being entirely truthful with him. Sitting at his desk, he steepled his fingers in front of his mouth as he went over the evidence. </p><p>Fact: Greg had never been seen dating a man. </p><p>To be fair, he had been married to a woman for a significant number of years, after which he was assumed to be licking his wounds in private. Additionally, as a member of a traditionally conservative organization, a preference that differed from the historical would be grounds for a great deal of office gossip. Perhaps Greg was simply discreet. Inconclusive. </p><p>Fact: Greg flirted and kissed him in private but so far had rejected invitations to go further. </p><p>Flattering as his refusals could be, couched in compliments and concern, they were still refusals. This could, however, be explained by the next point. </p><p>Fact: No one had recently -- well, to be fair, in the last decade -- demonstrated an interest in him of that nature. </p><p>Well, there was that ridiculous invitation from his co-worker. As though he would make the classic mistake of socializing too closely with someone he would have to continue working with! To gain agreement from for essential decisions! Better he be thought an idiot than be seen to reject her. </p><p>He still wondered what she'd been thinking. He didn't find the idea of "gaydar" compelling, but Mycroft was certain that he did not give the impression of being particularly interested in women. Or anyone, really. That she would take such a ridiculous chance based on no evidence... he made a note to once again reverify her recent decisions to ensure her momentary loss of reason hadn't reoccurred. </p><p>He was wandering. Clearly he didn't care for where the facts were leading, but he had never looked away from a difficult decision or a moment of self-sacrifice in his life so far, and he wasn't going to start now. </p><p>Fact: The two of them were visually mismatched. </p><p>He'd just lectured himself, but Mycroft couldn't resist allowing his memories to wander a moment, replaying visions of Greg's smile, his shoulders, the way he ran his hand through his hair, how attractive he was when it was late and his whole being went soft around the edges. </p><p>Then he pulled himself back to the cold truth, the only certain thing. He didn't compare. He dressed well, as his position required and money made possible, but he was obviously middle-aged, as seen in his continuing battle with his weight and his receding hairline, and he hadn't had that pleasing a set of features to begin with. His mediocrity was an asset in his role as problem-solver -- it was a virtue to be unmemorable -- but he was certainly no reward for a potential paramour. </p><p>Fact: Alcohol was known to reduce inhibitions and potentially result in atypical behavior. </p><p>Proven, obviously. By this list, if nothing else. Mycroft grimaced. Why was he wasting time on this? He should be done with it and get back to the many items where he could actually contribute usefully. The conclusion this was leading to was a self-indulgent point of martyrdom, but he determined to see it through so he could be done with the nagging annoyance, set it aside, and <b>focus</b>. </p><p>Hypothesis: Greg considered him a convenient source of drinks and entertainment, but the extent of his interest ended there. Mycroft was merely a convenient companion when Greg was under the influence, as they said, and a reliable way to obtain free, top-shelf liquor. </p><p>There would be nothing different about this behavior. Mycroft wouldn't have his position without a tedious amount of required social engagements. Being willing to foot the bill made him a more desirable guest and opened a certain number of doors with the social climbers and position seekers. </p><p>Corollary: Was that acceptable grounds for continued socializing? </p><p>Perhaps. Only if both parties were aware of the guidelines and willing to accept that state of affairs on a continuing basis for the foreseeable future. He should consider, however, that Lestrade didn't seem like the type to blatantly trade time and attention for free refreshment. He'd likely mutter something mundane about "not being bought". Approaching the subject as an offer would likely offend him. </p><p>Mycroft would have to position it as his own choice, then, but the idea, unusually, made him reconsider. He enjoyed the time spent together. Lestrade had said he did, as well, and it would be impolitic to accuse him of misrepresentation. </p><p>Mycroft already had enough people in his life who barely tolerated his presence. He had seen a brief glimpse of what it meant to make someone else happy by spending time with them, and if he was to carve time out of his already scheduled life for someone, he wanted that to continue. </p><p>Gracious, he sounded like a cheap novel. Is this what people did? No wonder they were all so miserable. Perhaps that's why so much socializing did involve alcohol. </p><p>Well. Now that he'd determined which outcomes he would find acceptable and necessary points of investigation -- good Lord, Sherlock was a terrible influence -- he could respond to Greg, who had been attempting to contact him for another evening together. If he hadn't been suspicious of his motives, he might be flattered at the persistence. </p><p>He began crafting an email to Greg. Direct and to the point, to prepare for the coming discussion. </p><p>
  <i>While I have enjoyed our evenings together, I have become concerned that the extent of our socializing so far has required a significant quantity of alcohol to proceed. You would not be the first to prefer a substantial amount of social lubricant to spend time in my presence. I would prefer to be clear about the nature of our relationship. Regardless of your answer, you are welcome to continue taking advantage of my club rooms and their amenities, if you wish. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>      -- MH</i>
</p><p>He knew as soon as it had arrived, given the calculated time for Greg to read it, then re-read it, as his mobile began ringing. </p><p>"Yes, Gregory?" </p><p>"What are you on about? You think we're a couple of sots who don't get along unless we're drunk? For one thing, it takes more than two cocktails to get me plastered!" </p><p>"No implication as to your tolerance was intended. However, I do regret my forwardness in pushing you while potentially intoxicated for things you may not want to participate in."</p><p>"... Is this about the kissing? I've told you, there's no rush. That's it." </p><p>"If you require me to spell it out, I must be clear as to whether you would be able to tolerate me without artificial aid if our specific friendship is to continue. I don't want you to misunderstand. I have never felt comfortable letting go around any one before. You're very ... reassuring. But in my youth, there were boys who said they enjoyed my company but put up with me for more mercenary reasons. And some of them -- I overheard -- they found it easier to do so when they were drunk." </p><p>Greg went silent. Mycroft wondered if he was moving his mouth, spelling that out again to himself. Or perhaps he had been correct in his deductions, and being confronted with the blunt truth gave Greg nowhere to dissemble. </p><p>"... I have to meet your parents someday. Really can't believe the number they've done on you. Although it's not just them, if that's how people who called themselves friends treated you... Let me be clear, then. Mycroft, I like you. I like spending time with you. We get along. And if you want me to prove it, come to my place, I'll cook you dinner. No drinks." Greg continued muttering, almost to himself. "Can't believe you are that insecure with all those gifts." </p><p>"If you are inviting me over to continue berating me for my understanding of our situation, I regret that I am unable to accept your invitation." Mycroft was quite practiced at firmly and coldly turning people down. </p><p>"Dunno what you think I don't see, but I would rather not do this over the phone. Come on, dinner tonight, and you can explain all this to me. Not a genius, so not sure what you're on about, and why."</p>
<hr/><p>Mycroft didn't know what he should bring as a hospitality gift if wine was unacceptable, by his own declaration. Flowers seemed to beg the romantic question. Dessert items might insult the chef by implying he needed to bring his own food. Finally he gave up and decided he'd make it up to Greg after, depending on how the evening went. He could even hear Greg, in his head: "Just yourself is fine." </p><p>Greg's flat was cozy, and he was quickly welcomed into the kitchen, where he sat down at a wooden kitchen table. </p><p>"Forgot to ask, but seafood's ok, yeah?" Greg was facing the stove but talking over his shoulder.</p><p>"Fine." Mycroft put some warmth into his voice, as he was attempting to avoid judging in advance of the evidence. </p><p>Greg turned to face him, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. "So here's the menu. Fresh green salads to start, with walnut vinaigrette. Scallops for main, accompanied with country bread from the bakery down the street. Full disclosure, I cheated a bit. I've got spring water for beverage, but there's some vermouth in the sauce, with cream. I know you said no alcohol, but we're not teetotal, just not drinking together, right?" </p><p>Mycroft looked down as his hands, resting on the simple table. "Gregory, I do not intend to put you ill at ease or make demands. I simply wish us to be forthright with each other." </p><p>"I have been. Am. Don't know where you got this crazy idea that I would need to be liquored up to enjoy talking with you. Playing games with you. Kissing you." </p><p>"The balance of probability..." </p><p>"Are you trying to treat our friendship as a math problem?" </p><p>"... a case, perhaps. An investigation." </p><p>Greg suddenly looked furious. "Did Sherlock have a go at you again? Is this where this insecurity comes from?" </p><p>"I am out of my experience in this area, and I am drawing from reasonable methods of analysis to understand the parameters, including historical evidence." </p><p>Greg pulled out another chair from the table and sat down next to Mycroft, as close as he could. He placed his hand over Mycroft's, clasping gently. "You are worth my attention. Don't have to prove it, don't have to justify it, don't have to trade for it, or buy it." He made a large expression of disgust. "I thought we were learning to trust each other." </p><p>Mycroft kept his eyes on their clasped hands. "I have also determined what is acceptable to me, and that is that I would like to continue moving our relationship forwards. Which would mean being seen, together, in public." </p><p>Greg sat back, a relieved smile on his face. "Ah! That explains it. I'd be happy to go out with you. Not bothered a bit." </p><p>Mycroft looked up, meeting his eyes. "You're prepared to come out as interested in another man?" </p><p>"Sure, why not? Nothing to lose, good policies at work, lots different from when we were younger. I thought we were being discreet to avoid your brother." </p><p>"There is a contingency in place if necessary to divert his attention." </p><p>"Course there is. Assuming you'll let me in on if if we need to put the plan into action. See, this is something I like about you. You say the craziest things as if they're completely reasonable. Like the idea I'd need to be drunk to think about getting closer to someone as attractive as you are." </p><p>It was a good thing they weren't drinking, as Mycroft would have likely choked on his mouthful at that assertion. </p><p>"You take effort to present yourself. You know the effect you want, and you get it. Posh, precise, accomplished, untouchable. Suspect you don't know how some people," Greg gestured at himself, "enjoy the idea of scruffing that up." He grinned and flashed his eyebrows. </p><p>Mycroft cocked his head, narrowed his eyes, and frowned. "Really." It wasn't a question. </p><p>"Sure. And I'll tell you another secret. I like your hands. Such elegant gestures with those long fingers and graceful movements. That's why I made something where we'll dip bread in the sauce. I wanted to see you eat with your hands." Greg squeezed them, still in his grip, before continuing. "My point is, you don't get to decide what I like or find attractive. A good relationship, those things are complementary. I like your hands. You like my hair -- I've been observing, too. </p><p>"But you can't freak out like this. You want to know something, ask me. 'm honest, I'll tell you the truth. Thought you might like that, given all the other games you play for Queen and country." </p><p>Mycroft finally found his voice. This extraordinary man had quite the gift for unbalancing him, but in a comforting way, with a soft landing. How could he have questioned his motivations? "I find myself apologizing to you regularly, Gregory. I clearly have a lot to learn from and about you. I will strive to be worth the effort." </p><p>"Sometimes I like the puzzle. Mycroft Holmes, always a surprise. Now, shall I get supper on?" </p><p>"Certainly. It sounds delicious. Anything I can help with?" </p><p>"Here," Greg put the round loaf of crusty bread in front of him, on a cutting board, with a knife. "Slice us some pieces of that, so I can toast them." </p><p>The two men, crisis averted, chatted and cooked together. When the entree was presented, Mycroft thought it was one of the best things he'd ever eaten.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mycroft is out of his depth but determined to be honest about it throughout. Even when he's wrong (Mycroft wrong?!?), he's committed to finding the truth. I find that admirable. </p><p>Here's the short, quick and easy version of the scallop recipe. (Traditional Coquille St. Jacques is a kind of mini casserole, with mushrooms.) </p><p>Toss scallops in flour to coat lightly.<br/>Saute in butter in a frying pan over medium heat until slightly browned on both sides.<br/>Remove from pan.<br/>Deglaze pan with a quarter-cup of dry vermouth and bring to a boil.<br/>When reduced by half, cut the heat, and mix in up to a half-cup of cream.<br/>Season the scallops with salt and pepper and add back to the sauce to heat, then serve with toast for dipping.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>